Nothing Compares
by Scarlet Ibis
Summary: COMPLETE. Last night's finale was amazing. There was a small [but integral] part missing, though. This morning, I got my hands on the shooting script, and saw this alternate scene with Rick and Michonne...
1. Nothing Compares

"Rick…you ready?"

"Carol, Daryl and me. We worked it out together. Carol took three guns from the armory. I still have one; she still has one. We lied to you because I wasn't sure how you'd take it. What you'd do." He looked up at her, handing her his gun. He was tired of the lies; tired of hiding it all from her. He wanted to tell her everything; _give_ her everything.

She didn't reach for it. Instead, she threw down her jacket in frustration.

"You think I'd try to stop you?" she asked softly, yet fiercely.

"Well you did hit me over the head," he joked.

"That was for you. _Not _them."

Rick sighed, rising up from the bed, approaching her. He needed to see her eyes when he told her this.

"I was afraid you'd talk me out of it. You could have." He looked at her, steadily. Sincerely. She had to know that she could talk him out of anything. Out of everyone in the group, somehow it was Michonne who could reel him back in. She steadied him; she was his anchor. They were connected. Lying to her, even by omission, had been harder on him than he realized. Telling her the truth, Rick felt a relief he hadn't felt in quite some time.

"We don't need them here. I don't need my sword. I think you can find a way—_we_ can find a way. And if we don't, I'm still with you."

He gazed at her. He knew she was with him. She had been for sometime. He remembered the overwhelming relief he felt when he saw her on that porch after the prison, or how she held his hand when they approached the gates of Alexandria. Michonne had been with him through hell and back. He swallowed, slowly reaching for her face, and gently cupped her cheek.

"…I'm with you too, Michonne. I'm always with you."

He leaned in, eyes on her all the while, and gently kissed her on the lips. She looked startled, but didn't move.

"Rick?" She said his name so quietly, but laid her hands at his waist, holding on to him. He leaned his forehead against hers, nuzzling her nose with his, while his hands rested at her hips.

"I want to give you everything, Michonne. I want _you_," he whispered.

She tilted her head up and kissed him back. Rick released a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding, and pulled her into his embrace, kissing her passionately. He spun her around, walking her towards the bed, still kissing her all the while. How he wanted to explore her body. He caressed her curves through the harsh fabric of the uniform, emitting moans of desire from her.

"Rick…"

Hearing her say his name like that—so full of desire—it was salvation.

She laid back on the bed, and he followed, climbing on top of her, kissing her again as he grasped her hands. He rocked against her, feeling her warmth through his pants. He wanted to take his time; he wanted to do this right. But he needed her; he needed to be with her now. They simultaneously paused, staring at each other, then quickly started undoing belt buckles, pulling at buttons and zippers. She knew. She needed to feel him—now—just as much as he needed to feel her.

And Rick nearly cried at the feeling.

A strangled cry escaped his lips, as he rested his head in the crook of her neck. He couldn't move. If he did, he knew it'd be over before it began. She shifted her hips, letting him in deeper with a sharp intake of breath. It had been such a long time for him, but even longer for her. She pulled his head back, cradling his bandaged face in his hands. They stared at each other as he slowly pulled out, and kept their gazes locked as he slowly pushed in.

"Dear god, I'm with you," he whispered, staring into her beautiful, dark brown eyes.

They moved in unison; with ease.

Rick wondered how he had gone without her for so long.


	2. A Hard Day's Night

"He shouldn't see you like this," Michonne said as they climbed the porch steps.

"It's late. He's probably asleep—" Rick paused mid-sentence as he saw his son standing in the foyer.

"Dad?" Carl said, taking in his father's bloody appearance. Michonne and Rick looked at each other.

"Carl…someone—"

"Gabriel," Michonne supplied.

"Left the gate open," Rick finished. "A few walkers got in and—"

"Your father took care of it," Michonne said, standing straighter. "And now, he's going to go upstairs and shower." Her tone left no room for argument. Rick nodded, heading up the stairs to the bathroom. He paused midway, turning to look at her.

"You're sticking around, right? I need to talk to you."

Michonne nodded curtly. "Sure."

Rick returned her nod, then continued up the stairs.

"So, what are you doing still up?" she asked Carl.

"I was waiting on you guys. Wanted to see how the meeting went."

"Well, it's okay. Just this once."

"Michonne, it's not like I have a curfew and a bed time," Carl laughed.

"You do now," she said in a no nonsense manner.

Carl gave a dramatic sigh. "Yes, mom. Michonne," he quickly corrected, looking confused for a moment before shaking it off.

"Well, um," Michonne continued, shifting from one leg to the other. "You should know that Reg and Pete are both dead."

"The walkers?"

She shook her head. "Pete killed Reg, and your dad…stopped Pete. At Deana's request. So…we're all staying."

Carl nodded somberly. "Wow. Big night."

"On the tail end of a long day."

* * *

Rick watched as the rivulets of blood went down the drain. Being in the shower felt so good, and yet a bit foreign. He washed his hair and body quickly, but thoroughly, under the hot sprays. He stepped out, toweled off, and finger combed his hair. Looking at his bloody clothes on the bathroom floor in distaste, he wrapped the bath towel around his hips, and went into his bedroom to put on some fresh ones. He stopped, however, when he saw Michonne standing by the window.

"Hey," she said, turning to face him. Upon seeing his state of undress, she averted her eyes. "Sorry. I'll wait for you downstairs."

"No need," he said, heading over to the bed to sit. He motioned for her to do the same. "Nothing you haven't seen, after all."

She exhaled, sitting next to him. "Actually, I didn't see so much as felt…" she trailed off lamely, but smiled a bit. "Anyway, tonight was…"

"You think I shouldn't have shot him."

She shrugged. "I don't know. He was crazed. Reg shouldn't have walked up on a maniac wielding a sword, but someone was bound to get hurt, either way."

Rick followed her gaze to the window, and he saw her sword leaning against it.

"You couldn't have known he'd take it. And you were right about not needing it."

"I'm not so sure anymore." She looked bereft. "Reg was a good guy. He didn't deserve that."

"No, he didn't. But there are some things that are out of our control. Put it in a safe place, but you don't have to carry that weight around."

She looked at him. She knew exactly what he meant.

"I've got you, Michonne. It'll be alright."

She smiled, and leaned her head on his shoulder.

"And um…Earlier today was…hurried and desperate and—"

"Do you regret it?" she asked.

"God, no. No, no, no," he said, grasping her hand, intertwining her fingers with his. "I was going to finish with 'amazing,' but you didn't give me the chance. I did want it to be better for you. I just…thought I was going into exile, and I just wanted to be with you. I _needed_ to be with you." He brought their joined hands to his mouth, and kissed the back of hers.

"I know the feeling," she said softly. "Rick…not that I need a label, but…what do you want? What is this to you?"

Rick dropped his head, smiling to himself. "I don't know. I just…it feels right. It feels like it's been a long time coming."

She sat up, looking at their joined hands.

"Can you stay?" he asked her softly.

She responded with a kiss.


End file.
